


Shattered

by Syrum



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Not a pretty fic, Short One Shot, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by an enemy he could not have predicted, Hux endures months of torture.  Not for information though; these people simply wish to hurt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

“Get up.” The gasping breath that he had barely managed to drag into his lungs was once more lost, as a muddy, steel-capped boot collided with his stomach. His arms shook, barely capable of holding his slight weight any more, trembling under the strain. Knees digging into the stone floor, caked in dirt and his own filth, the once proud General brought to his knees by starvation and the men he had once considered allies.

_The man who would be king._

“I said, _up!_ ” A large hand buried in his hair, dragging him to his feet, and Hux might have cried out if he had any voice left within him. It hurt, but less than the boot had, and even the pain of that was starting to numb as his body quickly adapted, too used to this sort of treatment. Pride gone, position of power gone, even his wits had all but left him in the months of confinement. The rest of the galaxy believed the First Order’s methods of interrogation were too severe, and yet those were nothing compared to this. To what he had endured, without breaking.

Not that it mattered if he _had_ shattered, as so many prisoners had before him. These men and women had no questions to ask, nothing to gain, aside from the sick pleasure of harming that which once loomed over them. Their former prison.

“I heard,” The man started, his comrades snickering around him. The man had been a Stormtrooper, once, and while Phasma could likely reel off his designation on sight, Hux had no such intimate knowledge of who the man had been, only of who he now was. His tormentor. “That you wanted to be _emperor!_ ” A roar of derisive laughter followed, and the man shook with his own mirth. Hux’s eyes widened minutely and his stomach dropped, what small glimmer of hope remained seeping from him. He had only ever spoken of his ambitions to two souls, and neither would have betrayed his trust willingly, he was _certain_ of it.

Which meant they had managed to _break_ either Phasma or Ren. Hux ached at the thought.

“Imagine that, Emperor Hux. Has a nice ring to it, don’cha think?” Another snickered, leering up at the once-General, eyes glinting in the low light. He knew that look, knew it meant nothing good was going to happen. Hux did not respond, remained entirely silent, and he wasn’t certain he could have spoken if he had even wished to. His mouth was long-dry, tongue slashed in two and jaw badly set from the last time they had broken it.

“And see how nice we are? we even went and got you a _crown!_ ” The first man laughed, eyes filled with a thirsty glee as a round, metal contraption came into sight. It had been fashioned out of what appeared to be the remains of one of the waste disposal pipes from a ship, thick and partly rusted, a screw added to one side so that it could be tightened once in place and metal barbs applied around the inner and outer edges.

Held between two of his jailers, they jammed the thing on over his head, lowering him just enough that his knees bent, ankles twisting uselessly under his own weight, severed tendons ensuring he would never stand unaided again. The barbs scratched against his scalp, drawing blood in places, and they tightened the thing just enough that it would be near impossible to remove with his mangled fingers.

“All hail, Emperor Hux.” Another round of laughter, their amusement dark and bitter, and Hux found himself held out for scrutiny as a camera was produced from somewhere. The device clicked and whirred, and he was reminded for a moment of the one he had held as a boy under his father’s watchful eye, too many years ago and too easily broken for a child of that age.

The memory was gone as quickly as it had appeared, as were the arms holding him upright. The floor rushed upwards, too fast, and Hux loosed a low grunt as his body hit the hard stone with a crunch. They left him, then, their laughter still ringing in his ears. He barely had the strength to sit upright, and yet he could no longer lay upon the cold floor either, the crown’s barbs digging in painfully if he so much as tried.

A small, quiet sob tore from Hux’s disused throat, then another, more noise than he had made in months, too dehydrated for real tears to fall. He was alone, he had nothing left, and for the first time Hux was finally able to admit to himself; he was going to die there.


End file.
